


tadhana

by esbis



Category: Noli Me Tangere & Related Works - José Rizal
Genre: M/M, Multiple Timelines, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 17:01:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5213801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esbis/pseuds/esbis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Kailan tayo magkikita muli?”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Kalianma’t kailangan ninyo ako.”</i></p><p>   <i>- kabanata 33</i></p><p>-</p><p>He’s loved him in every lifetime they’ve found each other. God knows how many they were, how many more there will be, but he is sure of it. </p><p>(sometimes, in the midst of their happiness, he will remember the blood and the wars and he will break, but in this lifetime elias is right there for him, alive and steadfast and real)</p>
            </blockquote>





	tadhana

_“Kailan tayo magkikita muli?”_

__  
“Kalianma’t kailangan ninyo ako.”  
  
\- kabanata 33

  
i.   
  


They meet once more as children, but they don’t talk – some dispute between their family that Elias knows of but Crisostomo doesn’t. He’s heard about it in hushed voices, anger muffled through the thick walls of their home, seen it in the uneasiness that makes wrinkles grow deeper on his grandfather’s face. They’ve spend all of pre-school and half of elementary in the same school, but the times they’ve spoken could be counted on a hand.

  
The school is big enough that the most they do is glance at each other across playgrounds, long hallways, the canteen. On the first day of school one year, Crisostomo doesn’t show up like he used to, and it’s only then that Elias hears about him moving to Europe. Spain, actually – and in history class when they learn once again about it, his schoolmates make faces and tell the teacher that Cris lives there now. She remains unamused at their jokes about Cris returning all grown up with a plethora of Spaniards behind him coming to take the Philippines back.

  
This he recalls now – in the present – while watching Cris’ face twist with amusement. His smile is half hidden behind the ice pack he’s got pressed to his cheek. Elias, his own ice pack pressed against his left eye, is glad he’s calmed down at least. Getting into a fight with some other students over something so trivial is a horrible first impression, really.

  
They sit in silence for a while, dull ache throbbing in their faces, until the blue-gray Manila sky turns the color of a dark bruise. They have to return to their boarding houses soon.

  
“Nga pala,” Crisostomo mutters before they turn away, "salamat." 

  
It’s the first time he’s heard his speak in Tagalog in years, and it’s soft and accented. The way the rich kids speak it: if not mixed with English, then with an accent similar to it. Elias quirks the eyebrow that isn’t covered by the ice pack.  


"For sticking up for me,” Cris switches to his normal affected English, looking flustered. “Well, good night,” he says finally, and waits for Elias to return the goodbye before they head in opposite directions.

 

  
ii.

  
Saying they worked on opposite sides of the revolution isn’t quite right, he muses. They’re two groups working against one, but that doesn’t mean they’re on very good terms. Same goal, different ideas (it’s actually the social class, why they scorn each other, but few can admit it).

  
Crisostomo’s condo is a couple of blocks away and he’s passing a pitch-black alley when he hears footsteps. Or rather, the faint thud of shoes against pavement. He ducks into the shadows and presses his back to the stucco wall, fingers ghosting over his gun. Goddamn it, it’s two in the morning and he’s too tired for this.

  
The alley goes silent. Footsteps again, shoes against pavement, and Cris grows tense with apprehension even as he realizes that the gait is slightly uneven. A limp, maybe?

  
A hand appears in the hard shaft of light at the side of the alley and Crisostomo takes a step back, hand on gun, ready to fight or take flight.

  
“Crisostomo?”

  
All tension evaporates, leaves his body in a deep exhale as he runs his hand down his face. Oh, thank god. “Elias,” he sighs, hand dropping from his pocket as he steps forward. 

  
Elias steps into the light to meet him, lips slanted into a faint smile. “What, were you about to shoot me, Señor Ibarra?”

  
“I didn’t know it was you,” Cris says, reddening. “But who almost punched me in the face last time? Way to greet your boyfriend.”

  
“That’s because you shouldn’t go around hugging me from behind in abandoned roads,” he replies smoothly. He limps slightly as he takes another step, shrugging slightly at Crisostomo’s concerned expression. “I probably look like hell,” he says before the other can speak.

  
“I probably do too,” Cris sighs as he puts Elias’ arm around his shoulders to help him the rest of the way to Cris’ home. “You get into too much danger.” He shudders remembering blood and bruises, bullets being dug from skin. 

  
“It’s worth it,” Elias mutters. “You do too. This thing between us. Has no one found out yet?”

  
“A few. I make sure they don’t speak a word of it,” he reassures Elias with a slight edge to his voice before giving him some sort of strange, flat smile. “Whatever, let’s go home.”

  
iii.

  
“You can open your eyes if you want to.”

  
“No, I’d rather be surprised, actually.” He can hear Crisostomo’s smile in his voice. Their hands latch together firmly as Elias guides him into the small boat with his eyes closed and his guard down, so open and trusting even as the boat sways beneath his feet.

  
Elias rows for a moment, and all there is to hear is the oars breaking still water and the cricket songs. “You can open them now,” he repeats, and this time, Crisostomo obeys.

  
What greets him is an endless expanse of velvet sky studded with a thousand glittering stars, above them and beneath them. There are stars in the water. A hundred chandelier lights shimmering in a glass of dark, dark wine; a million unattainable doorways into endless alternate lifetimes. In an almost childish impulse, he reaches out and runs his fingers through the water, through the sky beneath them, and his laughter rings out like the ripples his fingers create. 

  
He feels like he’s floating.

Right now, they’re at the edge of the universe; just the two of them, gliding along the edge of space in a boat, and he feels like he can never belong anywhere else.

  
No where else, and with no one else.

  
He feels tied to something and at he same time, so, so free. As if a thin thread, a strand of spiderweb made of starlight, hanging loose in the space between him and the other. And yet, they remain unaware of their hearts beating in tandem.

  
Two halves so close to each other, but not quite – not yet – whole. They aren’t magnets, unfortunately, just humans. They aren’t blindly drawn to each other. They have memories and emotions and a life away from the universe’s edge, where all things aren’t quite possible and the danger of everything looms like a guillotine blade above their heads. And yet…

  
“Elias–”

  
The words hang on his lips, like the water clinging onto his fingers, beading but not quite ready to let go. Two words. Two words in the language of their roots is all he needs if he wants to be straightforward. But he can’t.

  
God, he can’t. It would destroy him, or him, or both of them.

  
“Tell me stories.” He feels a little numb. “Myths, legends, anything. Do you know any stories about the stars and the moon?”

  
There is a beat. And then Elias speaks, words carrying over the still night sky reflected underneath them sure and strong and soothing as he brings back stories and gods long dead. He tells of the moon dragon that swallowed the sun, of Diana and of their Mayari, of the lovers that have spent eons trying to reach each other through the sea of stars.

  
Elias looks at him, eyes sharp and intense, and he feels like his skin is see-through and almost fears he can see his heart thrumming so wildly. He breathes again when Elias drops his gaze.

  
Crisostomo does nothing else but listen, letting himself rock on another wave of stars and the soothing murmur of Elias’ voice. Someday, he tells himself. Another time, he promises, be it another lifetime (the kind the stars promise them), even. But not now.

  
iv.

  
He’s loved him in every lifetime they’ve found each other. God knows how many they were, how many more there will be, but he is sure of it. 

  
(sometimes, in the midst of their happiness, he will remember the blood and the wars and he will break, but in this lifetime elias is right there for him, alive and steadfast and  _real_ )

  
They’ve loved each other the giddy and pure way children do, but also shared a mature love that didn’t need words or grand gestures; sometimes they loved from a distance, loved despite conflict and war because long ago they’ve found something worth risking everything for.

  
They said it in vows, or in secret; declared it to the world when no one was listening, left it imprinted on skin for no one to see. Sometimes they were lucky, and the stars led to a life where people understood and their intertwined fingers were as natural as all the stars in the sky.

 

This was one of those lifetimes. At the end of it, when they meet once more in the sky he will ask the question he always does, and he will get the answer he always does.

 

“When will I see you again?”

 

“Whenever you need me.”

 

And when they meet in the next life again, they’ll know they’re ready to face whatever it brings.

**Author's Note:**

> well. i finally wrote elibarra fanfiction, wow. 
> 
> please ignore the title god lmao i had no idea what else to title it, i'm horrible at titles. but i was listening to that song while writing those last two drabbles so. yeah hh h.
> 
> in case i have english followers lol, the quote at the top is found in english in the last drabble (obvs).
> 
> 'nga pala, salamat - oh yeah, thank you
> 
> ...i guess. i know the first line of the quote is supposed to translate to "when will we see each other again?" but i liked "when will i see you again?" better at that time whoops. honestly it just sounds better in tagalog but. anyway. i hope you enjoyed!


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